The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend
by Mally O'Jack
Summary: Part 2 of the Regenerations Trilogy: Chakotay, Paris, an off-world bar brawl...


My rationale for writing this story:

I think part of the reason that Chakotay and Paris clash is their personality types. I'm pretty sure Chakotay is Myers Briggs 'ISFJ', which means he has a clear vision of how things should be, and is big on responsibility, duty and loyalty and that kind of thing. However, 'negative feelings can build up inside the ISFJ until they turn into firm judgments against individuals which are difficult to unseed, once set.' Hmmm...sound familiar?

Looking at Paris's personality type, ENFP – typically this personality type moves from project to project, chafes under rules and routines, has a strong desire to be liked, and feels threatened by individuals with a strong 'Judging' preference (i.e. Chakotay).

So, bearing in mind their personalities and their backgrounds, it's no wonder they clash. But on the other hand, because they're opposites, they have the potential to complement each other really well – which is why I think Paris ends up as Chakotay's first officer in the post-Endgame novels.

Also, these guys _should_ be friends – I mean, they're both crackerjack pilots, and Chakotay's actually got a pretty good – albeit dry - sense of humour.

So I guess I'm interested in how they got from disliking one another (think _Caretaker_ and _Investigations_ to some extent) to the easy, familiar way they seem to interact in_ False Profits_ and _Fair Trade, _and potentially, how they end up serving together post-Endgame.

**Timeline**: This story takes place a few weeks after _Investigations_, and is kind of a sequel to my other story, '_Land_', though these can be seen as stand-alones. I've not really written for Chakotay before, so I'm still trying to 'capture' his voice. I hope to write a sequel to this story soon to explore some of the issues between the two men in more depth– think of this as more of a warm-up.

Anyway, on with the story!

* * *

**The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend**

**by Mally O'Jack**

"You've gone native," Paris said by way of greeting, referring to the colourful Faran cloak Chakotay wore over his uniform. Instantly he regretted the remark. Why did he do that? Why did he always have to say the first thing that popped into his head?

Chakotay regarded him coolly. "I've gained their trust. The Faran don't usually trade with off-worlders." He gestured to the grimy deuterium injector that Paris had beamed down with. "Bring that with you." He drew his hood over his head, the hem of the cloak trailing in the dust, and Paris followed him into the meeting house.

Loud, jarring music. The familiar smell universal to all drinking establishments. Faran men huddled round a table, playing some kind of board game. Chakotay walked up to the bartender and they touched foreheads, eyes closed, each inhaling the other's breath. Paris felt strangely uncomfortable watching them, as if he was intruding on the older man's privacy - Chakotay was usually such a stoic, at least where he was concerned. He hung back, the component heavy in his arms.

A few words were exchanged and then Chakotay signaled him over. He hauled the deuterium injector onto the bar, glad to be rid of the thing. It was a component from Neelix's shuttle, and it was covered in a fine layer of grease. The guy behind the bar examined the injector, and then he left, presumably to get their gallicite.

If he'd been there with Harry, he would have bought his friend a drink. If it was the Captain, he'd have made some quip about one man's trash being another man's treasure. And B'Elanna...well, perhaps he would have asked her for a dance, just to see her reaction. But he was with Chakotay, and the less he said, the better, especially after recent events. So they stood there, in silence, waiting.

Suddenly, without any warning, someone pushed him hard from behind so he nearly smacked his head on the counter.

"What the hell? " He spun round and saw a mob of Kazon Nistrim, at least ten of them. The one who had shoved him was huge, meaty-looking, and angry.

"Did Voyager really think it was free of us?" growled Meatbag.

Almost simultaneously, three thoughts flashed through his head:

There's not enough time to reach my comm badge or phaser.

And a realisation - they don't know Chakotay's from Voyager.

And then -

They will when Chakotay opens his big noble mouth.

So that was why, less than a second after Meatbag had spoken, he drove his fist into Chakotay's face.

* * *

Although outwardly he appeared calm, inwardly Chakotay was anxious as he conversed with the Faran bartender. In taking his last stand in engineering, Jonas had managed to damage one of the warp coils. They needed gallicite to refit it; not much – a tenth of a tonne maybe - but so far they'd had trouble locating even a trace of the stuff. He knew Janeway was worried, though she'd never admit it, and for some obscure reason he'd taken it upon himself to find the gallicite. Because he was doing it for her. And so if that meant wearing this ridiculous-looking cloak, 'going native' for a few days as Paris had so aptly put it, then so be it.

Thankfully, it looked like all his hard work was going to pay off. The bartender asked to see the injector, and so he beckoned Paris over. As the bartender inspected their goods, the pilot fidgeted, surreptitiously trying to wipe his hands on his tunic. Chakotay, his nerves already on edge, had to suppress the urge to snap at him to stand still. And then the bartender left to go out back. Hopefully he would bring the gallicite with him, though Chakotay wouldn't relax until he had it in his hands. The Faran were distrustful, wary of outsiders, and this deal was tenuous to say the least.

He never saw the Kazon enter. He was concentrating on the back room, deep in thought, when he felt Paris abruptly shoot forwards past him, nearly striking his head on the bar. He whirled round to see a group of Kazon Nistrim surrounding them, blocking off their exit.

"Did Voyager really think it was free of us?"

He did not recognise the Kazon who spoke, but there was danger in every word. They would have to be very careful.

He was about to reply when a sudden impact snapped his head back, sent him reeling to his knees, and then the pain came, a rising wave of sickening, shocking agony that that brought tears to his eyes and made him want to throw up, and Paris, somewhere above him, shouting "Faran scum! Faran traitor!". There was a scuffle, and he was aware of Paris being dragged away from him, the Kazon roaring, and he was still on his knees, trying to think past the red haze. _He's given you this time. Call for a beam-out._

"Chakotay to Voyager," he managed to get out, and he leant forward, his cloak rapidly turning to crimson, "emergency beam-out for Paris and myself, now!"

The last sound he heard before the transporter overtook him was Paris, crying out.

* * *

He materialised on the platform, still on his knees, his head bent over, blood dripping now onto the shiny transporter pad. But he was alone.

"Where is he?" he gasped.

"I'm having trouble getting a lock, sir," said Hogan, "there's too many people around him-"

"Beam them all up if you have to." The pain was getting worse, a throbbing, fiery ache, but he continued to stare at the transporter pad, wanting to tell Hogan to hurry up, knowing that an outburst wouldn't help bring Paris back any quicker.

A pause which lasted long enough for the Captain to stride in, her eyes full of concern, darting first at him, taking in his appearance, and then resting on the empty space beside him. "Report!"

"Got him," said Hogan triumphantly. Paris materialised on the platform, but the shape was all wrong. Then Chakotay realised – there was a Kazon on Paris's back, and another that was going for his legs. Chakotay leapt back as all three barreled over the side of the platform, grunting and hollering. Phaser fire from Hogan and the Captain, and then Paris extracted himself from the bodies, his shirt ripped, hair tussled and a gash above his eye. He was breathing hard, and he looked over at Chakotay, and of all things, grinned. "That was a close one."

* * *

They beamed the unconscious Kazon back down to the planet. The Captain had insisted on escorting them to sickbay, and now Chakotay was sitting on a biobed whilst the EMH fussed over him with a regenerator. Paris sat perched on the opposite biobed waiting his turn, uncharacteristically quiet now.

"So our Kazon friends aren't willing to let bygones be bygones," Janeway said.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" said the EMH, manhandling Chakotay's head to one side, away from the Captain.

"Still, a few bumps and bruises. It could have been much worse." He sensed the concern under her words. "I'd say the pair of you got off lightly."

He heard Paris clear his throat - "Captain -"

"No one could accuse the Kazon of pulling their punches," he said quickly, interrupting the pilot. "I'm just sorry we didn't bring back the gallicite."

"We'll find more," she said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. "You're more important." At that moment the Doctor moved his head back again, and he found himself looking straight into her eyes. They stared at one another for a second, and he saw a faint blush rise in her cheeks.

"Yes, well..." She smiled self-consciously, patted Paris on the shoulder. "Take the rest of the day off, gentlemen." Nodding to the Doctor, she strode out, a little too fast, he noted. He allowed himself a smile.

"All finished," the EMH said, breaking into his reverie. "No nose-blowing, take these nasal decongestants twice a day, and try to stay away from any more brawls." He sounded a little too gleeful for Chakotay's liking.

"Thank you, Doctor." He stood up, and the EMH bustled away with the instruments.

Paris stood up also. "I'm sorry I broke your nose," he said in a low voice. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard -"

"I understand why you did. The enemy of my enemy, right?"

Paris smiled warily. "Something like that." He gestured to Chakotay's bloodied robe. "Your cloak's ruined."

The Doctor came in again, brandishing another regenerator. "It's all right," Chakotay said, moving aside to make way for him, "it wasn't my colour anyway."

He was rewarded by the sound of surprised laughter as he left sickbay.

_Finis..._

_and to be continued._


End file.
